


World's Best Wingwoman (The Not Tryin' To Be Rude Remix)

by Ghostcat



Category: New Girl
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Best Friends, F/M, Female Friendship, First Kiss, Flirting, Friendship, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-22 00:51:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1569917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghostcat/pseuds/Ghostcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A girl, a boy, a bacon wrapped fig, a red dress and the things we do for our friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	World's Best Wingwoman (The Not Tryin' To Be Rude Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Inkyfingerstoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inkyfingerstoo/gifts).
  * Inspired by [I'm the best wingman that's ever wung](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/48293) by Inkyfingers2. 



> AU with Easter egg canon elements. 
> 
> Big thank you to [blithers](http://archiveofourown.org/users/blithers/pseuds/blithers) for stepping in as beta on this one. Thank you, pal.
> 
> Also, much gratitude to [parkerlees](http://www.parkerlees.tumblr.com) for doing a preliminary grammar assist and to [Kyra](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyra/pseuds/Kyra) for listening to me panic and providing encouragement.

Musicians are weird, he tells her. That was his first thought when he saw her. He tells her he can’t remember why, maybe it was her outfit? Does it even matter? It doesn't matter.

What about you, he asks.

 _I liked the way you swallowed._ That totally doesn’t sound right, not even in her head. She shrugs.

“I thought… you had a great nose.”

 

* * *

 

Jessica Day was curling her eyelashes with a spoon, cell wedged between her cheek and shoulder. She lowered her voice sexily. “Now usually I don't do this, but uh, go ahead on, break ‘em off with a little preview of the…”

“Stop right there, Jess.”

“But, I didn’t—”

“No. I love ya, babe. You are incredible. But I know where this is headed. I had one request. No hipster R&B covers tonight. I mean it.”

Cece was at work and Jess could hear the buzzing murmur of voices, ringing phones, and the tapping of Cece’s pen against her desk. Jess wasn’t sure what happened, but seemingly overnight her friend had gone from sitting around on bales of hay with curlers in her hair and being called “girl,” to high powered executive with her own office and parking spot. It was inspiring. Also a little scary.

“But Cece, it’s gonna be really cool. Holly and I came up with some amazeballs harmonies and we’re going to slow it down, add some melodica. It’ll be like the Bonnie Pr— ”

“No, Jess. The set list you sent me looks perfect. Don’t change it.”

Jess cleared her throat. “Okay. You’re right. I’m just nervous. I really want this to be good for you.”

“It’ll be wonderful. I haven’t thrown a party like this in a long time and it’s going to be extra meaningful since you and your beautiful voice will be there.”

Jess looked in the mirror, Cece’s mirror. She spent more time in Cece’s apartment than Cece did. She needed to get it together.

“Jess. You okay?”

“Yes,” she lied. “Just realizing, we’re basically growns-ups now? But I don’t feel it? It’s like, mentally, I’m still selling Tagalongs door to door, you know? Man, I wish I had some Tagalongs.”

Cece laughed and Jess could picture her throwing her head back.

“Well, until I get married and provide her with a grandchild, my mother will continue to see me as a tall twelve-year-old with a really well-paying after school gig.”

“You _do_ have a pretty sweet gig.”

Cece hemmed non-committally.

Jess sighed. "Did I tell you that my dad just sent me a check for twenty bucks with ‘RENT’ written on the memo line?”

“Now that is 100% Bob Day.”

“I cashed it and bought some socks. The sock man down the street gave me a sweet deal.”

“Hold up. When do you even wear socks?”

“I wear socks,” she said, semi-indignantly. “On Equestrian Chic Wednesdays.”

Jess thought jodhpurs and fitted riding jackets were due for a fashion comeback and she was doing her best to contribute to the cause.

“Okay. Right. So… what are you wearing tonight, hon? We should coordinate.”

“The white dress with the rhinestone collar and the tulle overlay. You?”

“The black dress with the cut outs. What do you think? Too much? Doesn't exactly scream V.P.”

“No, mama like! Sexy!” Jess wolf-whistled for emphasis.

There was a loud crash and a boom on Cece’s end. And, possibly, _sheep_? That couldn't be right.

“Cece?”

“Shitsticks. Listen, Jess, I gotta go. I’m sorry, but it’s crazy right now. Some idiot brought in farm animals for a presentation.”

“Yeah, of course. See you later, Boss Lady. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Jess hung up the phone and dabbed a spot of face cream, then powder on her eyelids, to lock-in the eyeshadow. She drew a black cat’s eye on her top lid with her eye pencil. No liquid liner tonight— that was advanced work and her hands were shaky from lack of sleep. She turned her head and looked at her eyes: one wide, tired, still red rimmed from last night’s Spencer-related Dirty Dancing freakout; the other perfectly lined, chic, confident even. This girl was not missing a dance. She made her voice go vodka-husky, “I can live without money, but I cannot live without love.” Her Judy Garland was getting rusty.

Jessica Day was lonely. Jessica Day was sleeping on her friend’s couch. Jessica Day and her band had a show. Jessica Day was suddenly single after five years because her boyfriend cheated on her. One of those things was okay, but the rest? Not so much. She wasn’t sure what she expected to happen tonight but she liked that it was a big to-do, because big to-dos meant change, because that’s what the movies taught her. Not-so-fun things happened and then there was a big party at the end, where everything got rearranged, sorted out for the better.

She grabbed her dress, still hanging under dry cleaning plastic, held it under her chin and tried to channel spunky-video-vixen-looking-for-her-big-break-in-the-biz. She sang, “ _So baby gimme that toot, toot. Give you that beep, beep.”_ Her legs kicked, her hips shimmied, she whipped her hair. She stopped, jiggling her foot nervously at the ankle, and bit her lip. “ _I_ think it would've been good.”

Jess carefully placed the dress flat on Cece's bed and sat back on the vanity stool. She winked at herself, then started on her other eye.

 

* * *

 

He wears his black Henley; she chose it, she likes it. End of discussion. He raises his eyebrow at her and takes the beer from her hand. “Why do I feel like this is a terrible idea, Jessica?”

“You look great and this is going to be great. Just because Schmidt backed out doesn’t mean we can’t do this.”

Nick takes a long swig and rubs his thumb along his fingers with his free hand. He’s nervous, she can tell.

Jess crosses her arms. “What’s Schmidt doing tonight, anyway?”

“He's subbing for his bike riding instructor.”

“Bike _riding_?”

Nick widens his eyes in mild exasperation. “Yeah, you know. At the gym.”

“Oh. You mean _spinning_ , Nick.”

“That’s what I said. Spinning. That kid is the dumbest boy I know.”

Nick fiddles with the neck of his beer and nods down at the table. He really does look good. When she turns on her kitten heel, she spins slowly and pretends not to notice what she’s doing. Or that her peripheral vision confirms that he’s looking. She thinks, _you’re with your friend, your friend that you’re sometimes attracted to, this is a safe place._ She knows her robe flares out as she turns, she’s banking on it. Just because she’s his friend doesn't mean she can’t test out some of her moves.

 

* * *

 

It was an open bar and potentially a terrible, no good thing. Stephen “Holly” Mason, her cousin and unnaturally laconic musical partner-in-crime, passed her another glass of sparkling rosé with one hand and knocked back a double whiskey with the other. He winced. “I’m going to go have a smoke. You okay?”

She gulped, shaking her hands out. She hated how her nerves always chose the half hour before she was supposed to go on to make their jittery appearance. “Like Martin Van Buren, heh heh.”

Holly nodded as if he knew what she was talking about (and, chances were, he probably did) and made his way out. Jess found a seat at the bar. She crossed her legs at the ankle, primly, and surveyed the room. Cece was in a corner across the way talking to a good looking guy with an abnormally large head, the shape of which sent her on a mental tangent about hats. Fedoras. Beanies. The type boys in barbershop quartets wear — oh, boaters. One nervousness-minute down, nineteen to go. Cece caught her eye and Jess did the international girl sign for SHOULD I SAVE YOU? and Cece nodded no, shrugging and wincing adorably in that way of hers.

Jess turned and spied a man sitting a couple of stools away. The sleeves of his dark shirt were rolled up and his hands looked like good hands, man hands, hands that did stuff, like hammering. He rubbed his fingers together as if he were testing the value of merchandise at the market and his voice, what she could catch of it, had an exasperated rough and sweet texture. He thought he was talking to the bartender but she was on one those phones with the subtle earpiece, lost in some other conversation. He was about her age, early 30s, dark haired, with a spectacular nose, broken looking in several tiny, specific places. He peeled the label off of his beer, lifted the bottle up to his mouth, took a long pull and gargled. Which was kind of gross but also not. The way his throat bobbed when he did that was amazing and obscene. Jess felt her mouth go dry in response.

“That’s what I’m saying. It’s not natural. No animal should have a face that small.” He picked up something from the napkin in front of him and gestured towards the bartender. “You need to try these bacon wrapped thingies, lady. They’re surprisingly tasty.” He leaned in closer to his hors d'oeuvres, and brought the toothpicked treat up to his face. “I am bacon and I enwrap your old school fruit sweetness with my delicious, delicious salty body.” He stuck his tongue out and licked the bacon, experimentally, seemed into the experience, and ate it all in one bite.

Jess was hit with slow, stupid wave of desire. Slow because it started at her toes and tingled all the way up, and dumb because the man was talking to bacon. She could not explain the allure or why she was smiling.

“Ten minutes, J.D.”

“Oh my god, Holly.” She put her hand on her heart and turned to him accusingly. “You scared me.”

He raised an eyebrow and patted her shoulder stiffly, which in Holly-speak, roughly translated to something like, _chill out, Jess Day_. Which she was, she was totally chill, the chillest.

“I’m going to the back to set up,” he monotoned. “Grab us some water?”

Jess nodded and ordered some water, sneaking glances at the man at the other end of the bar. Cece came by and grabbed her arm. “Time to go backstage. Yay!”

“But I need water for the guys.”

“I took care of that, I had some brought up there.”

“Oh, okay.”

Jess gave the man at the bar one last look. He was biting on a toothpick, a fresh beer in front of him. He never even saw her.

 

* * *

 

“You realize, Jess, that I’m going out to hook up with somebody? As in sex, I'm going to try to have sex. With a lady.”

Jess is in her room looking for earrings that work with her outfit. Nick is in the living room, waiting. She shouts out to him.

“Yes. I’m going to get you laid, son. That’s my friendship-is-magic vow to you.”

“I don’t see that happening,” he yells, his voice getting scratchy. “You usually scare women away with your… ”

She chooses that moment to walk in and sees just what she needed in his face: his startled eyes staring, up and down from foot to crown, his mouth, slack jawed.

“...giant. Eyes.” He swallows, then raises his eyebrows. “Wow, you look… great.”

She smiles and points to her back.

“Thanks. Zip me up, please? I could do it myself but it would be like wrestling a bear, only I’m the bear, and I don’t want to start perspiring this early in the night. Got to look good for the fellas.” Jess snort-laughs, dark, loopy, and loose. “Know what I'm sayin', G? Yeeeeah, you know.”

Nick doesn’t even tell her stop talking, like he would normally. He just holds onto one hip as he pulls the zipper up with his other hand, and when he gets to the top he leaves his hand at the base of her neck a beat too long. She thinks about turning around, but a small part of her is still _trying_ to be a good friend. She doesn’t want to be that girl, the one that won’t let her best guy friend look at anyone else, just because she could if she wanted to.

He slides his hand from her neck to her shoulder, squeezes once, then walks away. Jess turns to follow him. Nick goes straight for the beer he left on the counter and regards her with an unreadable expression. “Red’s really your color,” he says, after several seconds of quiet.

She knows.

 

* * *

 

Cece tested the mic with a “hello, hello”. She gave it two taps with her palm and smiled out at the crowd, shielding her eyes from the light.

“Thank you so much for coming out tonight and celebrating my promotion with me. I would like to introduce someone who is very special to me. The sweetest, kindest person I know: the beautiful, the talented, Jessica Day and her band Holly Day.”

Jessica hopped on stage. The lights were crazy bright and she blinked against them, turning to Holly, half-blind and jumping, veering away from I’m-gonna-throw-up nerves towards something like euphoria. He hit the first chord and they went into their opener, about going out and meeting someone on a Friday night. It wasn’t Friday, but it felt like one and she let go, let the Friday feeling take over. Her eyes adjusted. She scanned the faces in the audience and found Cece sitting by the bar. Cece did a little dance in her seat and blew her a kiss.

The set wound up being one of those out-of-body experiences, where you’re not controlling anything. Everything happened effortlessly. While you knew it was you, because there was your voice, singing loud, and your arms, shaking a tambourine or strumming a guitar, it also _wasn’t_ , because a part of you remained separate from the action, watching, charmed, at yourself. At this unbelievable excitement.

They do a cover that Cece chose: an Everly Brothers song she loved hearing Jess sing because it reminded her of their sleepovers when they first became best friends. Jess looked Cece’s way, but locked eyes with the bar guy instead. He was staring at her, a small smile on his face.

It was strange how seeing someone in profile was nothing like seeing them head-on. How, if you liked the little bit that you saw, the preview, seeing the rest of them and liking it was this outrageous, overwhelming, holy cow! experience. And boy, did she like the rest of him. He was hot. Rumpled hair, dark eyes, slouchy and messy, like he didn’t understand or care about his own attractiveness. Like he lived in his head. He moved his lips as if he was talking and she realized, with a blink, that he knew the song, that he was singing along, and it almost made her lose her place. But she didn’t. At the end of their set, she let herself look back to his seat, and there he was, clapping, and still smiling.

Cece ran up to the lip of the stage and squealed, hugging her tightly. They jumped around, in their heels, getting lipgloss all over each other. For the first time in a long while, things felt like it used to. Not sad, loser Jess and super successful Cece, but call you every night, I sewed your prom dress, you beat up my nemesis, you are my always valentine, true love, equal, _best friend forever_. So if Jess forgot to look for the sexy guy with the beer afterwards, no big deal. If she was meant to see him again, if the timing was right, then she’d pounce. For now, all that mattered was Cece, the champagne they were going to open on her fancy balcony, and their sure-to-be epic speeches about the power of friendship and love. Okay, _her_ epic speeches. But appreciated by both.

 

* * *

 

There’s a lawyer, a part-time stripper, and a couple of college girls. Jess shoots them all down. Too much like him, too wild, too young. He gets that hangdog expression he always gets when things aren’t going like he planned or when Schmidt tries to go in for a cuddle. It’s all in the jaw.

“Must you sit that way, Jessica? They all think you’re _with_ me.”

Jess straightens up a hair, then slides back down. “Sorry. It’s hard to sit in this dress, draping is the only option. Maybe if you push me up or find some pillows?” She looked around haphazardly.

Nick sighs an ancient, curmudgeonly sigh. “I don’t even know why we’re at this place. With this music and the fancy drinks and the weird shot girls. My type of joint is more like a meat locker with booze. A bathroom that’s a cement closet with a bucket. An angry man behind a plank of wood, who hates his life and understands cheap beer and regret.”

“There are no women at those places, Nick.”

His shoulders slump and he rubs his face. “Right. One more twelve dollar beer and I’m leaving.”

Jess looks around the bar. None of these women are right for him. This isn’t how he should be meeting anyone, anyway. He should be friends with someone first, get to know them, understand them, then make a move. He’s not a club Lothario. Neither is she. Though, technically, _she_ wouldn't be one… A disco dolly? Totes. She guffaws.

Nick comes back, empty-handed, looking resolved. “Okay, here’s the deal. _You’re_ leaving. I’m staying.” He nods, his mouth a determined, flat line. They look at one another for an endless almost-minute, then his eyes soften. He sighs wearily. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do here, Jess, I do. But you are not a good wingman by any stretch of the imagination. You’re a terrible, terrible wingman. The opposite of one.”

She blinks. “You mean wingwoman. Wingperson.”

“Wing-- whatever. Jess. I’m serious about this. I’ll call you a cab.”

Jess licks her lips. He has a point, she can’t deny it, but knowing it's true doesn’t stop her from feeling slightly dejected. What is her problem? She stretches her arm up.

“Okay. Help me up, this dress is too tight.”

He takes her hand and pulls her up, but miscalculates the strength it takes and pulls her into him with too much force. She goes _oof_ against his chest and suddenly Nick is so close. His eyes dart around her face; from her eyes to her lips and back. The music seems so much louder, a cheer goes up from the crowd at the breakdown, and she can’t help it ‒ she pushes forward and kisses him hard. To her surprise, he responds instantly, bringing his arms around her back and down to her hips and they move, thoughtlessly, to the music, in a slow dip and sway. Not because they’re dancing, but because the sheer, punishing volume dictates it. His hands, one splayed out low on her back, the other on her face. Her hips pressing tightly against him. They kiss and kiss, until someone pushes them to move out of the way and Nick grabs her purse and steers her towards the exit, shouting because it’s too loud for anything else. _HOME. NOW._

 

* * *

 

“Jess! Good news. Remember Schmidt, from my party?”

Jess was doing cat-cow and while she was kinda sorta in deep zen place, she wasn’t zen enough to set her phone to vibrate. “Ummm… nope. Was it the guy with the inhaler?”

“No. Preppy-ish. Dark hair. Big head,” Cece elaborated.

Jess sat up excitedly. “Oh. Yes! He was really nice. He talked to me for about twenty minutes about rhinestone appliques. He had a surprising amount of knowledge on the subject.”

“Right. He works for my company and he happened to mention that him and his loftmates are looking for a roommate and the rent is right in your price range. Also, it’s near the school.”

“Oh my god! Did you tell him I was looking? Can I see it? Is he a serial killer? Of course he isn't, he works with you. Wait. He could be one. Oh my god, how close to the school? Could I walk?”

“I’m only answering one question. Yes, he can meet with you tonight at eight, if you’re interested.”

Jess hopscotched frantically. “Yes! Tell him yes!”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

She stopped to consider it. “No, I've got this.”

“Good. I’ll text you the address. Oh, and Jess?”

“Yes?”

“Let’s make margaritas tonight. I secured a big account today and I feel like resting on my laurels.”

“YES! Ooh, guess what’s on tonight? Girls Just Wanna Have Fun!”

Cece and Jess simultaneously shouted “Instant DVR!”

Their cackling died down and Jess murmured, her voice raspy, “Hey, Cece. So proud of us.”

On the other side, she heard Cece inhale brightly, the way she always did before she smiled.

“Yeah. Proud of us.”

After pressing end call, Jess ran in slow motion around the apartment until she got all the wiggles out. Then she went to pick out the best dress to meet her potential new friends slash roommates. Red and white. Those were her colors.

 

* * *

 

Getting up to the loft takes longer than it should. There’s a lot of kissing and negotiating of space. There’s a lot of kissing and attempts to open doors. They bang and bruise their legs and every time they do, they gasp an ouch into each other’s mouths. There's a lot of... everything. It’s all excellent.

They don’t have sex, but they could. They keep kissing instead and the kissing holds a promise of more and more and more. Not just because they live across from one another and could, just any time they wanted to, but because suddenly, every single one of their exchanges leading up to this moment becomes just that. Signposts leading the way, to this. Something greater.

“Nick.”

He puts his hand to her face and she has to stop herself from rubbing against it in contentment.

“That night you saw me at Cece’s thing. Were you attracted to me then?”

Nick smiles, chews his lip for a moment, and frowns. She recognizes this combination, he’s being bashful.

“Yeah. You looked super pretty in that mermaid get-up and you sang real nice.”

“Thanks. So why didn’t you ask me out afterwards?”

“‘Cause you moved in.”

Typical Nick Miller logic. It trips her into giggles and he falls as well, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Besides.” He raises himself up on his elbow. “I needed a wingwoman to get things going.”

“A wingperson.”

“Whatever.”

He kisses her gently, one, two, three, last one on the cheek. She smiles up at the ceiling, lifts her arms and sings softly to herself. She forgets for a moment, that she’s there and he’s there, just loses herself, and when she remembers, Nick is looking at her with a fond, bemused expression.

“Are you singing ‘bounce’ over and over?” Nick asks.

“Yeah, ' _bounce, bounce, bounce_ ' - it’s from a real song.”

His smile changes to something else and he leans towards her. She whispers, “Come on. You know it. _Gimme that toot, toot. Give you that beep, beep_?”

Nick furrows his brow, the corners of his mouth pointing downwards. She wants to turn that frown upside down and other things that could be dirty if you say them the right way. She touches the corner of his mouth with a manicured finger.

“No? How about... _Sipping on coke and rum, I'm like so what I'm drunk, It's the freakin' weekend I'm about to have me some fun_?”

He laughs as his face gets closer, either in recognition or because he likes her or both, his eyelashes brushing softly against her cheek. He tilts her forward slightly to access the zipper on her back and works it down, in fits and starts, murmuring _bounce, bounce, bounce_ quietly as he moves it along.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Follow me on tumblr: @ghostcat3000


End file.
